


Talk Some Sense To Me

by livia_1291



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Oops, aph ancients, aph germania, aph rome, germania/rome, i don't even like angst, prophecy and denial and murder oh my, rome/germania - Freeform, sorry - Freeform, the empire has fallen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_1291/pseuds/livia_1291
Summary: Rome falls. Germania cannot catch him.





	Talk Some Sense To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wiildflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiildflowers/gifts).



_The sticky-sweet scent of myrrh curls up from the well-tended flames in the center of a dark temple, drawing a dizzying haze over clear thoughts. The hand of the Sibyl on Julius’ shoulder is a leaden weight, but he does not dare flinch away from it. It is a root, grounding them both to the earth, to the marble room, to reality. Her cloudy blue eyes fixate on the eternal flames licking at the space between them, devouring the gifts he has offered in exchange for a glimpse of his fate. Her voice, the voice of prophecy, is low, ensnaring, the song of Apollo bridging the veil between mortal and divine._

_“I see...greatness. The gods will bless you…”_

_Relief washes over him like the Tiber after a flood - life-restoring, warm as the summer sun._

_“...but I see a fall just as great. A betrayal...”_

  _The blood in his veins runs cold, and he jerks away sharply, dislodging her hand from his shoulder. In a second, the trance is broken. She does not call out to him when he turns away, remaining where she stands. She is, after all, but a messenger - challenging prophecy is neither her job nor her gift._

_His feet cannot carry him from the stifling confines of temple fast enough, and he bursts from the columns as an eagle bursts from bars, gulping in clean night air. Clearing the smoke from his thoughts proves harder than he had hoped, and it is impossible to shake the lingering smell of incense from his cloak. For once, he is grateful to be alone - his tears will remain unseen._

_“I will not fall.”_

Germania is a conundrum. His best general lost three legions in the northern forests. Merchants would cross the Alps into Germanic fields, never to return to Roman territory whole. His soldiers did not want to fight there, avoiding the borders for fear of death in the form of a golden-haired warrior. He grows frustrated with the failures - _surely_ there is a way to take this territory, he has conquered _Gaul_ , for heaven’s sake - the only solution seems to be to march north himself and take the land by force.

The first time Julius sees Diedrich, he wonders if he is seeing a god. In battle, he is Mars, tearing entire armies to pieces, taking no prisoners, and then disappearing into the darkness of the forests just as fast as he had come. _Untraceable, undefeatable, untamable_. 

When they finally meet off of the battlefield, he realizes that he has met a formidable match. _Germania_. Utterly wild, as fierce as his people, unwilling to compromise, unwilling to surrender. He quickly realizes that there is no way he will be able to subjugate this man or his people, so he doesn’t try. Instead, he fights beside him, spends weeks in his villages, gives him gold, cloth, and exotic spices in an attempt to earn his trust. 

At first, Diedrich is unwilling to accept the gifts, turning his nose up at gold, at jewels, at the riches of Rome laid at his feet in exchange for peace. He is not interested in such useless things - after all, gold does not win wars, and jewels do not feed hungry mouths. Julius finds that it is hard to get close to him; he is reclusive, spending most of his time hidden away in the deeper parts of his forests. Getting to know Germania, he realizes, is like befriending a wild animal. Gifts of food work best. Do not move too quickly. Be patient. After a century of slow progress, it pays off.

They share a flask of watered wine around a fire, the warmth on their faces a welcome reprieve from the chill of the autumn night. It is late, and the moon is at the peak of her arc above them. It has been months since Julius has come to visit, and he feels a twinge of relief from being so far away from cities, from responsibilities. He understands now, why Diedrich loves his forests so deeply. They’re simple, untouched by the twisted games of politics and empires.

“Do you ever think about your own death?” Julius asks. His voice pierces the silence, unnatural, but not unwelcome. Diedrich gives him a long look, steely eyes glowing gold in the firelight.

“No,” he answers after a moment. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, and Diedrich shakes his head, golden hair brushing sharp cheekbones, and Julius can’t help but exhale longingly. _Untouchable._

“You think too much on the future,” the German decides, and Julius shrugs his shoulders helplessly, a smile curving chapped lips into a crescent moon. 

“I can’t help it.”

“I think you can,” the blond muses, and Julius turns to look at him, only to find that his eyes are fixed among the stars, tracing the radiant figure of Hercules and the arc of the Northern Crown. The man looks ethereal in the firelight, and he remembers his first impression: _divine._

“Since when did you become a philosopher?” He teases, and Diedrich hums, low and melodic.

“It does not take a philosopher to realize that men who dwell on the future are blind to what is right in front of them.”

Rome hesitates, thinking on the words for a moment, before tipping the rest of the wine in the flask down his throat. He runs his tongue over his chapped lips, tasting blood and wine and earth. “Right in front of them, hm?”

Finally, Diedrich looks at him. The moment their eyes meet, the blond feels lightning crackling between them, sees thunder in his companion’s gaze. Sweet breath fans across his cheeks, and he realizes how close they are - separated by what? Firelight? Resignation? He can’t tell anymore.

“That is what I said,” he murmurs, but neither of them pay much mind to the words anymore.

 When their lips meet, Julius is stunned to find that Diedrich is _warm_. He is not made of stone and light - he is here, and real, and _oh so searingly warm_. It ends sooner than he would have liked, but they both need to breathe, to let the night cool the fires ignited by their kiss.

“I…” He begins, but Germania hushes him. 

“Don’t,” he whispers, and Julius clasps his hands, nodding in silent understanding. This new thing, this feeling born out of their touch, was too fragile for words. He doesn’t try to say anything more. Instead, he kisses him again.

Despite the _res nova_ between them, their purposes in the world had not changed. War was still a given for both of them, and beating back invaders and conquerors soon begin to wear on Julius. Scrapes and gashes take longer to heal. He tires more quickly.

“Too much territory, not enough time,” he jokes, but the weariness in his eyes is anything but amusing. 

None of this escapes Diedrich - he prides himself in being perceptive, and the changes are not difficult to notice. It is hard, he learns, to get a straight answer from the Roman. It is as if there is something he knows that he doesn’t want Diedrich to hear, something sinister and concerning. 

“When did this happen?” He inquires one evening as they lounge lazily in bed, draped in fur and flax and drenched in moonlight. There is a cut, deep and long, on Julius’ upper arm that he had not noticed before. No part of the other is unfamiliar to him, so that means that this must be new. But from where? There were no wars, no uprisings happening, no reason for such a gash. 

“Dagger,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I was sparring last week, and didn’t block in time.”

Germania does not let on the concern that pierces his heart like ice. Didn’t block in time? _Last week?_ The cut should have been long healed, and Julius _never_ forgot to block. He had heard of this happening, of nations growing weaker as time goes on, but never dreamed it would be something he would witness. Especially not with Rome. Rome was eternal, unmovable - they were supposed to have forever. 

“Are you worried?” Julius inquires, arching a brow. There is a smirk on his lips, mischievous, and for a moment, the blond is able to forget why he is troubled. “You think too much on the future, amor. Pay attention to what’s right in front of you: me.”

For that, he gets a light shove, and an exasperated snort. “Do not spin my words against me.”

The brunet only laughs, pressing a lazy kiss to his partner’s cheek. As Julius surrenders to sleep, Diedrich pulls him closer, tucking him against his chest as if to be a shield for him. There is nothing that could harm him here. He will not let that happen.

Julius knows the day he is going to die. He had been weakening steadily for years upon years, becoming less quick on his feet, less sharp-tongued, less _himself._  A priestess had told him, years ago, that his pride would be downfall, that he would crumple under the crushing weight of his own greatness. He had brushed her off, laughing in the face of his own fate. He grew older, weaker, wiser. By the time he realized she was right, it was too late.

He does not look up at the sound of footsteps entering his chamber, gaze fixed out the window into chaotic streets, unseeing. There is no need to ask who it is - he knows. _He would know him blind._

“You’ve come to kill me.” It is not a question.

“I have.” Germania’s voice is decisive, matter-of-fact. There is no room for negotiation - it is already decided.

“I didn’t think it would be you.” This is not true. _Betrayal_ , the Sybil had told him. And what deeper betrayal than this? He hears the unsheathing of a blade, but does not turn around. He cannot bring himself to look into the face of his beloved, his killer. Not yet.

“You were wrong.”

“I am rarely wrong.”

Diedrich tilts his head, ever-unshakable. Rome burns around them, dust and ash, centuries crumbling and folding in on themselves. Julius hardly feels it anymore. After a long moment of silence, he draws himself up, turning to face the taller man. Amber eyes find blue, trying to ignore the glinting silver dagger cradled in the Northerner’s left hand. Vaguely, he registers that he had given the weapon to him as a gift years before, telling him to use it well.

“Make sure my children...I don’t want them to see…”

There is a nod from the blond. Of course he understands, he always seems to _know_ ; a frightening kind of wisdom lives in his stoic silence. 

“They’re safe,” he assures him quietly, and if the Roman did not know better, he could have sworn he saw guilt flickering in the far reaches of glacial eyes. He offers a faint smile: tired, _grateful._

“Thank you. Now, let’s get on with this, shall we?”

Germania moves too fast for him to react, even if he had wanted to. He does not feel the bite of the knife across his throat. He does not feel the earth as it shakes around them. He does not see the room crumble, nor does he hear the cries of his people in the streets. All he sees is blue, indomitable, piercing blue. As his knees buckle, he reaches out to him and smiles. _Peace, at long last._

Diedrich catches him as he crumples, and eases him to the dusty floor. Crimson seeps between faded ceramic tiles, flooding the earth with ichor. Tenderly, the hands that had just destroyed him slide his eyes shut. A flower, purple as wine, is laid across his chest. _Hyacinth_.  It is both an apology, and a silent offering to whatever gods might be listening; a plea from the bottom of his heart. _Forgive me._

 He stands, and tucks the bloodstained dagger away at his side. Somehow, the world is still turning. As he turns to leave, back into the disorderly streets, he looks over his shoulder one last time, to the figure of crumbling stone and light resting beneath the window.

“Sleep, Aquila,” he whispers, voice tight with grief and guilt. “Sleep, and be at peace.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Long notes ahoy!
> 
> GLOSSARY OF REFERENCES THAT YOU DO NOT NEED TO KNOW, BUT MIGHT IMPROVE YOUR READING EXPERIENCE:
> 
> Res nova: Latin. "The new thing." The Romans loved the word res.
> 
> SYBIL: a reference to both Alexander the Great and Gaius Julius Caesar, who went to the same Sybil alone, years apart, and both came out in tears. What did she tell them? Who knows! Probably that they were going to die young!
> 
> HYACINTHS: The Gay Flower. (TM) One legend says Apollo the sun god, and Zephyr, the god of the west wind, both loved this guy Hyakinthos. Zephyr killed him in a jealous rage, Apollo made Hyacinths from his blood. 
> 
> I wrote this while listening to "I Found" by Amber Run on repeat for three hours and crying. Go give it a listen!
> 
> Diedrich’s name is from the lovely whisperweeper’s fic “When You Close Your Eyes,” since he has no canon name. 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Bianca who beta'd for me and entertained me with helpful comments like “oh so you want angsty symbolism huh??!! huh?!?!? give him a hyacinth!!!!! wax poetic about the sun!!!!!! quote the archaic apollo!!! tear my heart out more you coward!!!” You are the best! <3


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